Seven Sins
by Happymood
Summary: Nations are humans. It is in the human nature to sin. Seven drabbles. Various pairings.
1. Wrath

**A.N. These are a set of drabbles I couldn't get my mind off and had to write. I hope you'll like them. :) Sorry for any grammatical errors. **

_Beware the wrath of a patient adversary._

_John C. Calhoun_

**Wrath **

All he knows is that it rises from somewhere in the pit of his stomach. It burns him, he feels every cell in his body being converted into fire by it and then it slowly moves up, further into his body, it expands into his system, finds his heart, makes it beat faster, makes him want to scream with pain, his fingers move of their own accord, wanting to hurt and damage, it goes up into his throat, chocking him and then…

It stops.

It's still there, though, crawling under his skin. It never goes away. It growls, waiting for the right opportunity to pounce but that opportunity never comes. So, it starts scraping him impatiently, again and again, drawing blood, biting him, hurting him from the inside because he doesn't let it out.

"Canada? He would never…"

He tightens his fists instead and smiles, stretches his lips wide when someone mistakes him for his brother, when they ask for his name again, when he is told he is not strong as his brother, when he hadn't even needed to fight for his independence, that is how much he is worth, when his brother claims he is part of the United States, and forgets he exists, when he laughs with his mouth full and it's disgusting how obnoxious he is and he wants to hurt him, spit at him, scream at him, strangle him and sometimes he wishes that what remains of America is just a puddle of blood on the floor. Red as his flag. Red as a battlefield. Red as the fury howling inside of him.

"Who are you again?"

"I'm Canada…"

He is patient. He doesn't hurt anyone. He would never. He is tolerant of others. He loves his brother. He doesn't care if they don't ask for his opinion. He is the guy that smiles and says:

"It doesn't matter if you forgot…"

He is the one that avoids confrontation. He is the one that wants to stand on the other end of the argument.

And win.


	2. Envy

_Envy is the art of counting the other fellow's blessings instead of your own._

_Harold Coffin_

**Envy**

He loves him. He really does and he knows Germany does too.

He should be happy.

But sometimes he wonders if it's just admiration, his heart beating fast only because Germany is something he is not, and he wonders if he would love him the same if he was like him.

If he was like all of them.

He tries with all his might, but it's impossible. He is still inferior: his industries are not as strong and his economy is not as good. Germany, America, France, Japan… all of them aren't weak as him, they are feared and respected.

No matter what he does, no one respects him as much as they respect each other.

When someone talks about him, the first thing they think about is pasta, music or the mafia. He resents his brother for that, even if he knows that is not his fault that things went that way.

"Hey, Feliciano… I'm broke… you'll help me out, no?"

He does. He always does or else Lovino will start lecturing him about their Unification and the battles they had to go through to arrive at this point. And what are brothers for, Feliciano? But Feliciano would like to shout at him, tell him that he is doing all the work here and he should start doing his part too and stop talking about a Unification Lovino had complained about in the first place…!

He resents Germany, America, Japan, England… because their brothers don't need their help, they can stand perfectly on their own.

He resents Switzerland, who he is called wise because he is neutral, while Italy is a coward because he hates war.

He resents England who doesn't care about anything and is proud of who he is. England, who doesn't need to speak any other language than his own, who he kept his coin, his traditions, everything that makes him unique and everyone admires him for it.

What would happen if Italy did the same?

France is sometimes so snob, but everyone wants to talk to him anyway.

And Italy tries with all his might to learn English but it's difficult and they don't understand and they look down at him once more and he wants to be like them and unique at the same time… but nothing! No matter what he does, he still not like them.

Sometimes he just wants to be like his brother, who doesn't care about what others say, who doesn't accept their food, who shows his middle finger at whomever tries to comment, and who hates Germany, England, France, all of them, so openly and no one cares anymore.

"Italy, are you okay?"

"Yes, of course, Germany!"

Smile. He tells himself. Smile because is the best thing you can do.

But what would happen…

What would happen if he lets that smile falter for once?

Just for once?


	3. Gluttony

_Gluttony is an emotional escape, a sign something is eating us.__  
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_Peter de Vries _

**Gluttony**

It's never enough.

No matter what he does, the hunger persists. The stares. The whisperings.

Oh, he knows what they are saying. He knows they are not far from the truth either.

What to eat?

Chocolate cookies. Peanut butter sandwiches. Hot dogs. Hamburgers. French fries. Chicken, beef or ham?

What to buy?

He has it all and yet, it's never enough. There is always something new, something better, something tastier, and his stomach grumbles and he wonders, sometimes, if hearts can grumble too.

Skittles. Marshmallows. Twizzlers.

He takes it all, just in case he needs it. It's too difficult a choice, anyway. Give me everything, it orders him around, and he can do nothing but comply. Do it, don't think about the consequences. It worked so far, why stop now? It's easier, he wants everything, and, a moment later, he wants more than that _everything_ because the taste never leaves his lips and they are still staring, still whispering (and still they are not far from the truth either).

Consumerism, they say, but it's easier to forget when the stomach is full. It's easier to pretend everything is fine when your only concern is to gulp down, swallow, fill. They don't get it.

He is alone, they don't understand that either, because they always had each other. He _had_ to walk alone.

They hate him. Each and every one of them. Nevertheless, they fear him and therefore, they don't speak. Someone dared to, someone tried to walk away from him, but even _he_ failed. They don't need to say what they think out loud because he knows and… now he is hungry again.

Lemon pies. Cheese cakes. Tarts.

He tries to help them, is what heroes do, but… do they feel alone as he himself does? Do they feel the hunger, the need? Do they feel as empty as he does? Do they help the same way that _he_ helps? Do heroes exist anyway?

"So, is everything clear?"

"Yes, America. Now stop talking with your mouth full…"


	4. Lust

_Lust is to the other passions what the nervous fluid is to life; it supports them all, lends strength to them all ambition, cruelty, avarice, revenge, are all founded on lust._

_Marquis De Sade _

**Lust**

It happens every Friday and Saturday night. It grabs his stomach and tightens its hold each second that pass and it makes him nauseous, weak, pathetic, a shivering mass on the floor that gasps for breath. And yet, he needs _that_ to live.

And so he gets ready and walks out of his house, out in the streets, where girls wearing short skirts laugh with each other, waiting in line and hugging themselves in the cold. Loud music fills his mind but he doesn't care as long as his glass is filled with whiskey and burning his throat and nose. The same feeling he gets when he drowns: sea water going up his nose and turning his blood into salt. He is one with the sea and he loves the way the rudder feels under his fingers, the wind crying in his ears and that land so far away but near enough to already feel it as _his_.

_His_ is the body that tastes that night. A body with no face or name but that screams for more when he touches it and it's amazing when they graze his scarred skin and open wounds that never healed but had been revenged.

He rules them.

He used to rule them all, towering over them and making them his. Each scream is music when they beg for his mercy. Each breath they make it fuels that desire. That same desire that made him found _her_ and that kill _her_, leaving behind a blue-eyed boy. The same desire that helped him go through it all. The same desire to kill when Spain challenged him and the same desire to do it again when everything ended.

But its never enough. He can't turn back time. He needs more and humans can't give that much. He knows that if told that bastard would surely comply, please him in any way he can, giving that love he claims to be a master of and never let him live it down afterwards.

"See? We are the same."

"We are definitely not. I'm a gentleman…"

He hates how much he needs it, how much he wants it, he hates wishing to dig his fingers in the other's flesh, to pull his hair and feel him, slam him against surfaces and feel powerful again. Ludicrous. Dirty. Like the blood on his fingers and all that gold at his feet. Dirty like the whiskey in his system, obfuscating his mind and blurring the line between the past and the present.

And the bastard knows about it all and he hates that grin on his lips when he founds him half conscious in the streets of London. A body between many but that he knows too well.

The bastard.


	5. Greed

_There are many things that we would throw away if we were not afraid that others might pick them up_

_Oscar Wilde_

**Greed**

He remembers those times quite well. It would be stupid to forget: how powerful he felt with the sword in his hand and the way those black eyes stared at him, how they feared him so much but couldn't really tell him where he could find the things he wanted.

Didn't it feel great when he got them?

Not that he was poor back then, but he wasn't wealthy either. He _needed_ that gold. He _needed _those lands. It didn't matter how much blood he was going to shed, those weren't humans anyway. And when he got them, wasn't it just fair to fight for them? Even when they couldn't give him anything? Who could blame him?

Why give them so willingly to England? Those lands, those humans and all that gold was _his._ Don't dare to take them away from him.

Or when his own people feared him? Didn't it feel great to have them near and control them? His boss helped him feel powerful again, to be a colonial empire again. If he didn't have them, they would be someone else's. Who could blame him? He remembers those times quite well too, but it hurt too much to remember.

Now the world has changed. They took everything from him and now they want him to give up the things he was left with. The only one to stay by his side, even if he wasn't his anymore, was Lovino.

Dear Lovino. Always shouting, always crying. How much blood has he shed to keep him near and not to feel lonely anymore? Who needs him now?

But if he let go of him, who was going to pick him up?

Better not risk it.


	6. Sloth

_We excuse our sloth under the pretext of difficulty._

_Marcus Fabius Quintilian_

**Sloth **

Sleep is bliss.

Is the state where every problem, every protest, every war disappears, when all the pain fades away into nothingness and there is nothing but darkness.

Oh, God. Let him sleep, because he needs to recover.

He didn't have the time to. His mother died and he didn't have the time to mourn. The Ottoman Empire tore her image from his mind. He never had the time to adjust, to see what the others were discovering. News of the rest of the world were few, but he tried to catch up anyway.

In the end he realized it was pointless.

Revolution came. The need to be free woke him up but it was for just a little while, because when he finally came to his senses and tried to walk on his own, another war started. And then another.

Blood, fear, hunger, anger. He can't take it anymore. Oh, mother. Is that why you gave me life for?

He needs time to get over it.

Let him sleep.

Everyone is going to fast and he just can't catch up with them.

Let him sleep.

Wait for me, please. You are going too fast…


	7. Pride

_A proud man is always looking down on things and people; and, of course, as long as you're looking down, you can't see something that's above you._

_C.S. Lewis quotes_

**Pride**

"You fear me."

It's not a question, it's the plain truth. It's what brought him to his death. Is the reason why everything is happening.

He's smiling. His white teeth are bright in the dark, his whole complexion makes him look like a ghost wandering above them, and his eyes are brightly red, the color of blood and victory.

He knows what real victory feels like and that's why he thinks the color red fits perfectly. He can handle defeat. He can create and destroy. He can do everything. He is great and no one can even touch his level. They are jealous of him. Hungary too was jealous. Its reason they didn't work out. Loneliness is just the price to pay.

The nations look down at him but they don't know that they should look up. But, they want him gone, after all, he thinks, so they must already know what they should do. They are just too proud to do it.

"You may kill me…" he smirks, "But I will be always remembered. People may forget sooner or later, but nations can't…", he turns to look at the blond nation, standing there, fear visible on his face, "…can we, little brother?", his tongue runs over his teeth and his canine is so sharp that it draws blood. "I wonder…", his voice drawls, "…how you'll be able to sleep peacefully when I'll be gone… we'll you be happy seeing everything you took from me scattered around you? Do you really think that you all can become like me?", he snickers. His brother is at loss with words.

You signed my death sentence.

"Enough with this!" is America who speaks and points his gun at his forehead. "Are you proud of all the things you done?"

"Hell, yes!" is what he shouts and starts to laugh when Russia grabs his arm and drags him away and even when the last gunshot is heard, his laughter will be still echoing inside the other nations' heads.

And it would take a while for it to fade away.


End file.
